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Once, Eavus left the road for the shade of the tall trees, following the sound of water to a fast-running stream. He dipped his waterskin, paused to take a long drink, and heard a gentle movement, so quiet and yet so there that Eavus suddenly thought of Revni and her gods. Only it wasn’t a god, it was an elk, a massive hulking beast with antlers so wide they could have been turned into dinner plates.

Eavus’ breath caught in his throat. The creature moved slowly, testing the foliage, bending his great neck to sample something on the ground. Eavus was afraid to move, afraid a glint of light off bronze would spook him. When the elk reached the stream, he paused at the top of the hill to take a drink, just as Eavus had done, and before he crossed, he lifted his noble head and looked directly into Eavus’ eyes. His slick black nose twitched, and Eavus wished Revni were there to see it. They didn’t have beasts like that in Isfjold, he imagined. What would she say to something so majestic? She wouldn’t say a word. She’d have only stood and gaped with him, marveling at the wonders to be found on this island, if only given the chance to look.

Eavus shoved his helmet back on his head. He’d done what he could for her. He’d done more than he could—at least he had that. The rest of it, the message he carried, whether the local chiefs would surrender or fight, what would become of everyone on this island, including him…That wasn’t his business. So he returned to the road to walk the last stretch of it, before the final outpost at Triconum.

The Aleterian fort at Triconum, built at the vertex where Varou, Cornari, and Catavarrus lands met, was primarily a supply post, with storehouses and stables and therefore a larger guard than most and more secure walls. They’d even built a tall stone wall along the northern border of the fort, which seemed unnecessary as it ran parallel to a deep gorge, an undulating crack in the earth that in the spring thaw became a river. Eavus would re-supply at Triconum, and then turn east, following a spindly cart path that hadn’t yet been paved until he came to the end of the canyon, and then turn north, heading into the wilderness where no path yet existed. Aleteria had taken Norbucum from the water, bringing men from across the Northern Sea, from the conquered territory Revni called Gerstunt. But they’d found Norbucum hard to hold and had yet to achieve enough peace for a long enough stretch of time to begin any of the road-building they had planned, hoping to connect it with forts and outposts to the south, eventually all the way to Lordinius. Norbucum, therefore, sat like a lonely jewel surrounded by enemies. Resupplied only by ship and only when the weather was fair, constantly at risk of being lost again to the Isfolj who had originally founded it, Norbucum was also too valuable to let go—Aleteria could never complete its eventual plan to pincer the native tribes if it lost that northern scrap of land it had clawed out.

Triconum was filthy and industrial. Manure competed with rank sweat for the predominant odor, with an undercurrent of burnt grease that stuck to every surface. It was an unfriendly place, full of a constant tension on account of the surrounding tribes, magnified by the constant opening and closing of the gates as new supply wagons came and went, new soldiers transferring in and out. There was a persistent squeaking—of wheels, of swinging hinges, the shrieking of metal on sharpening stones—that set everyone on edge. Eavus tried not to think about Triconum, either. He kept his eyes on the dirt a few feet in front of his toes, or on the head of the man in front of him, leading him to the commander, to the mess, to the bunk where he’d get his last night of rest before abandoning civilization for the forest he’d hoped he’d never have to see again.

After Eavus reached Norbucum and delivered his message, there would be fighting here. The Varou, Cornari, and Catavarrus would descend, and these soldiers who elbowed each other for an extra biscuit, who spit in complaint behind the quartermaster’s back, who gave him a nod of respect…

How many would be injured? Would be killed? How many of these boys—because many of them were boys, like he had been, fourteen, fifteen years old, stationed at the worst of places on their Service Primus, just as he had been, because they had not yet earned a commander’s favor and a better posting—how many of these boys would never make it home? Wherever even home was. It wasn’t just a death warrant for the Arnean tribes he carried; the letter at his hip sentenced thousands of his brothers, too.

In the morning, Eavus had the slight luxury of sleeping in, though he wasn’t able to take full advantage. He was eager to be on his way. But a large train of wagons and supplies was coming in, and another leaving, and to prevent the security breach of having the gate stand open for half the day, the fort commander had decided to time the exit with the other’s entry, keeping the gate closed until the caravan arrived. Eavus breakfasted and re-checked his gear. He had insisted on a full sixteen days’ supply of rations, despite Norbucum’s theoretical distance of only twelve, along with a cookpot, a small ax for firewood, and a proper bedroll. The blacksmith had sharpened both his dagger and his eating knife, and Eavus stuffed extra coal cloth into his fire kit. He knew how cold the nights could be.

The sentry shouted to the gate guards, who called orders to the reserve. The commander, who was still finishing breakfast in his own quarters, took his time emerging, then squinted into the sun, calling out questions and orders to other sentries along other ramparts. The wagons at Triconum were growing as restless as Eavus felt. Oxen shifted their weight and huffed beleaguered snorts; the drivers shifted on their wooden seats, their behinds already anticipating the long day’s ride.

Eavus sidled past an unconcerned donkey that looked half-asleep and took his place closer to the gate. It took three men to lift the heavy cross-piece, planked from a single old-growth tree, but once they lifted it into its place, the double doors were swung open and Eavus, with a nod, exited Triconum. He would have to backtrack south for part of the morning before he could connect with the hard-packed path that would take him east. The carts and soldiers at his back moved slowly, and he found himself almost alone for a brief stretch before he began to encounter the line of wagons and deliveries and a small regiment of soldiers who were all waiting for the entrance at Triconum to clear so that they could make their way in. Eavus kept his eyes down and his shoulders hunched as he pushed past the bored wheels and grumbling feet sending up shifting poofs of dust. Fresh-cut lumber met his nose before he slipped around a long, flat cart, followed by the stench of pigs in cages, the tang of fresh leather from new recruits. A few saluted as he went by, and he gave a half-hearted return, but most ignored him, talking in low tones amongst themselves, butts of kit poles resting in the dirt. The merchant wagons were next, their goods hidden under wooden arcs covered in strips of cloth, but items clanked as the donkeys began to move, the way ahead clearing.

Eavus kept on at first, but the next few carts were led by oxen, some paired on a yoke, and Eavus stepped into the verge to let them pass. He didn’t think about what was in those carts, didn’t worry about who they were or what they’d done. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching each wooden wheel spin slowly around its wooden dowel, the shadow they made, followed by a stretch of light before the next. They creaked and groaned, and he focused on that sound, not the breathing or the whimpering, the shifting of bodies against each other, the strain of the leather straps holding the cages together. He didn’t want to know. It wasn’t his business. As the last cart rolled past, however, Eavus’ horrid curiosity couldn’t help a guilty glance. They weren’t naked, thank the gods, though the clothes were ragged. Hollow eyes stared back at him, and dirty fingers gripped the wood. Eavus took an accidental, stuttering step towards them. But it was the way of empire. He’d spared one. That was the best he could do. He swallowed hard, and began to turn back to his path, before shoving limbs and grunts of annoyance froze him in place.

“Eavus?” Revni’s voice broke through, and then her face, terrified and pushing her way to the back. “Eavus!”

Eavus. His own name floated to him like something separate from the earth. He hadn’t heard it now in days, in what seemed a different life. He had become Ricaea Marceas again, and Eavus was a stranger.

But his legs pulled him forward, drawing him just behind the wagon. It wasn’t a mirage, it was Revni, her cheekbone purple tinged in black, her lip bloodied, her hair loose.

“What—”

“No time for that. Can you get me out? You’ve got to get me out.”

“What about your paper? Your…” He couldn’t remember the word. “Your paper. Your freedom.” It was impossible. It cost ninety pieces of gold.

“He took it. He ripped it in half.” She tightened her jaw, eyes watering with rage.

Eavus couldn’t string his thoughts together. He who? The wagon kept rolling, and he kept following, plodding numbly behind it.

“I—” Ninety gold pieces. Gone. It wasn’t the money, but it also was. What had he spent it for?

“Eavus.” Revni’s voice pierced him back to reality, to the warming sun and the gates of Triconum returning into his vision.

“I—I’ll get you out. Just—stay put.”

Revni’s lip twitched. “I’ll cancel my other plans.”

Eavus huffed an inadvertent laugh, his mind already racing ahead. There was no market in Triconum, which meant they weren’t being brought here to be sold. Likely prisoners, the slave trader would say, convicted of crimes against Aleteria and sentenced to the mines. He’d sell off the best of them one by one, to prefects and commanders, as gifts for wives and officers, in underhanded dealings that made everyone feel like they were aiding a good bargain. Then he’d take the rest towards copper and lead, where he’d sell the remainder at a cheap price to the agent in charge, someone who didn’t ask questions when it came to more labor.

Eavus quick-stepped to the front of the train, the merchant wagons just now reaching the gates. The caravan lumbered forward like an injured cat, long pauses as each cart stopped to present papers or undergo their interview. The new recruits were in loose formation, attempting to hold lines they were not yet comfortable with, while their commander clasped arms with an old friend, his own posture relaxed and relieved to have finally arrived.

“Sir.” Eavus straightened his spine and hustled the last few feet to give a sharp salute down the bridge of his nose.

The commander swung his eyes to Eavus, his smile falling.

“Legionary.”

“Sir. I apologize for the interruption. There’s a wagon of prisoners coming in, sir. I have reason to believe that they have been illegally detained. Sir.”

The commander had hard gray eyes. They traveled up and down Eavus like he was perusing a slab of hanging meat, wondering if it had worms.